As Easy As Algebra
by clair beaubien
Summary: WeeChester story. Dean is 15, Sam is 11. Dean hates algebra, he's in a bad mood, and he yells at Sam. What does Sam do?


I hated school. I really hated school. And school seemed to really hate me. High school was supposed to be fun and girls and fun girls and more freedom than grammar school. And okay, most of the high schools I went to were all that, but this school was stupid. Stupid teachers, stupid students, stupid rules, stupid stupid everything. The only good thing was that school would be over soon. Sammy was finishing up fifth grade, and I was surviving my final week and a half of freshman high.

It couldn't end soon enough.

My high school was around the block from Sam's grammar school and I was waiting for him to get free so we could walk home.

"Hey, Dean! Guess what?"

_Of course _Sam was happy. Sam wasn't usually happy coming out of school, but today of all days, _of course _he was. He practically bounced down the front steps and demanded again,

"Guess what?"

"_What?"_ I was pissed and I didn't try to hide it and it surprised Sam. He stopped dead and didn't say anything. He looked hurt.

"_I said - __**what**__?"_

"I won five dollars in the school carnival." He said in about as small a voice as he could get.

"_Well, good for you. _C'mon, let's get home."

I turned to go and didn't even wait for Sam, who had to hustle to catch up with me, lugging that overstuffed backpack over his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" He asked when he was even with me.

"_Nothing." _

Not like _that_ would be enough for Sammy.

"What happened? Dean? Something happen at school?"

"_Nothing._ C'mon, I have to do _math homework._"

I walked faster. Sam kept up.

"But - you're okay at math."

"_Pfft_. Miss Weber doesn't think so. To her, only girls are good at math. If a boy gets an answer wrong, he gets it wrong. If a girl gets it wrong, Miss Weber coaches them along until they _do_ get it right. It's stupid."

We were close to the motel, it wasn't far from the school. It was a one story crap place next to a strip mall of one story crap places.

"I can help you with math." Sam tried. I was _so _not in the mood.

"I don't _need_ your help, _Francis_. I just _told _you - that stupid teacher has it in for me. Come _on._ It's your turn to heat up dinner."

I walked faster so that Sam had to practically jog to keep up with me.

"It's just algebra, isn't it? I could -."

"_Sammy, for God's sake, will you just SHUT. UP. I don't need your friggin' help."_

I knew I wasn't mad at Sam, I knew I shouldn't be yelling at him. But he was the only target in range. He stopped dead and I kept charging to our room. When I stopped long enough to open the door, I saw him going into the convenience store just a few doors down.

Fine, great, whatever. Spend your windfall. He was probably going to buy some geek book or magazine or whatever. _Who cared_? I dumped my books on the table and yanked open math. Miss Weber wasn't going to get the best of me.

A little while later, Sam came into the room. He dropped his pack on his bed and got busy at the kitchen wall. It was early for dinner, unless he was hungry. Sam's turn at dinner was generally Spaghettios or canned ravioli or hot dogs and macaroni and cheese.

In a couple minutes, he set something down on the table near me.

"Here."

_Whatever_. I grunted nothing at him and kept my eyes on my homework and didn't pay him any attention. He turned and scuffed out of the room and went outside. He left the door half open, like he was supposed to when he went outside without me.

And when I looked at what he gave me - I saw that it was a Hostess pie crushed into a Styrofoam bowl, covered with whipped cream, _real_ whipped cream, and a plastic quart of milk.

I looked out the door. Sammy was sitting on the curb, reading a book. And he didn't have a pie of his own because he'd used up all his money on what was sitting in front of me.

I'd yelled at Sammy, and he'd blown his five dollars - on _me. _

What a kid. I _so _did not deserve a brother that understanding. And _he _didn't deserve the kind of brother I was being to him.

I split the pie in two into another bowl and covered it all over with the whipped cream from the aerosol can in the fridge. Then I grabbed another spoon and carried everything outside. I didn't say anything, just sat down next to Sam and handed him his bowl, and set the jug of milk between us.

He gave me a smile like I was doing _him _the favor, _"Thanks, Dean,"_ and dug in.

If only I understood algebra as well as Sam understood me.

"_You're welcome, Sammy."_

The End


End file.
